Category Archives: Humour

Visiting Lake Waikaremoana in Te Urewera National Park

girl sitting on rock looking out on lake waikaremoana

Over the last few years, Jamie and I have started a tradition. Each year, between Christmas and New Year we’ll head off on a trip somewhere for a few days.

This year we decided to head to the Hawke’s Bay region of New Zealand’s North Island for a few days. We’re leaving the North Island soon and we’ve yet to travel up the east coast and knew this would be our only opportunity. We decided to spend a few nights of camping in Napier exploring the surrounding area. Then another few nights in what used to be Te Urewera National Park.

Continue reading Visiting Lake Waikaremoana in Te Urewera National Park

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The Meaninglessness of Cereal Cafes

From time to time, I’m confronted with the absurdity of life – the complete ridiculousness of everything.

There was a time long ago when these realisations would make me laugh. I’d be sitting at work one day, thinking about shoes. Like, how crazy are shoes when you truly think about them? Ok, they protect our feet, so they’re somewhat useful, but isn’t it amazing just how seriously people take shoes. How much we judge others based on their shoes. How much thought we put into selecting them, designing them, making them. All this time and energy spent on shoes when they’re just….SHOES! Continue reading The Meaninglessness of Cereal Cafes

The Bad Trip in Amsterdam – Part 2: Losing Control

This is part 2 in a series of posts about a trip to Amsterdam, part 1 can be found here.

Part 2: Losing Control

If you ever have a good idea and it includes taking drugs, then stop. Take a moment to think. It’s not a good idea.

Our “good idea” was so perfect that it didn’t warrant discussion. Wake up, eat breakfast. Early morning joint. Head to a smart shop. Buy some magic mushrooms. Go to a coffee shop, another joint. Have lunch, then back to the hotel to take the mushrooms.

That was the plan. But it all went horribly wrong. Continue reading The Bad Trip in Amsterdam – Part 2: Losing Control

Avoiding Social Interaction While Traveling

I pace quickly up the hill. My feet slamming into the mud of the trail.

My heart is racing, my body sweating. Legs ache, lungs burn. I can’t stop though. There’s something in the trees behind me. Something scary. Not a bear or a monster. Much worse than that.

My housemates.

Now you may think from my last post about socialising while travelling, that I’m a lover of conversation. The truth is, I hate it. I am a level 99 ninja at avoiding it. There’s a lot I’d go through to get out of a conversation. Including climbing a mountain.

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Competitive Travel Packing: The World’s Newest Sport

intricately packed bag

In a bizarre turn of events, the latest sport to be accepted by the Olympic Committee is competitive travel packing. For years now, the sport’s biggest competitors have been meeting up all over the Internet to compare notes, and show that they’re the best at putting clothing into backpacks.

The rules for this new, strange sport are simple: the lower your bag’s weight, the higher your score. Points are deducted for including cotton clothing and a laptop in your packing list. Only an amateur traveler makes such incompetent mistakes.

In order to compete in the next games, you must leave at least twenty condescending comments on travel blogs claiming that you know how to pack a bag better than anybody else on the planet.

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Playing Bubble Football in Wellington, New Zealand

Bubbles on soccer pitch
We’ve been in Wellington for a month now, so we decided it’s probably about time we went out and did some socialising. This is one of the hardest things when you move to a new city, finding new friends and ways to meet like-minded people.

Fortunately Jamie and I are both big users of the website Reddit. Most big cities have their own Reddit group and often the users meet up to socialise. When somebody posted on the Wellington group that there would be a meetup for bubble football we decided to pounce on the opportunity.

Continue reading Playing Bubble Football in Wellington, New Zealand

Why I Miss Spam

Whenever I check my emails I am overcome with a brief sense of hope.

This is it, I think, today I’ll get the email of my dreams.

Sitting in my inbox will be a message from the CEO of some fantastic company saying “Daniel, I’ve read your blog and I’m so amazed by your talent that I’m going to pay you a million dollars for you to lazily write one blog post a month for my company. Don’t worry about the topic, just do what you like. That’s how much we value you.”

A fantasy. I check my inbox and it’s empty. Obviously. People rarely email strangers about anything. Who would want to contact another human being?! Isn’t it strange that we live in an age where we’re more connected than ever but nobody can be bothered to communicate. That would take far too much effort. Why is writing an email such hard work?

Instead, we wait. Checking our emails every 5 minutes in the hope we’ll receive something to validate ourselves. Nothing ever comes. Nothing at all these days.

There used to be a time when I’d get spam. That would keep me somewhat happy. For a few seconds I would be one step closer to that fantasy email. My computer would ding, I’d know there was something in my inbox. An email, an email! This is it. Then I’d check and it would be an advert for Amazon or a cry for help from a Nigerian prince.

Tick. Delete. Tick. Delete.

The process gave my email purpose. It became a form of game. I had to check my emails because if I didn’t the spam would build up. My email existed solely for this process of ticking and deleting.

Then something horrible happened. Google started blocking spam. In one fell swoop I no longer had to tick or delete.

Nevermind though, I still had all that legitimate spam to give me meaning. Newsletters, social network notifications and promotions. They all kept me coming back to my email. Gave me some reason to continue.

Then more recently something even worse happened. Google started automatically filtering these emails into folders for me. I never read them to begin with, I just deleted them, but now I don’t even have to do that. Out of sight, out of mind. My email has become twenty times as easy to check, but also it’s now twenty times as pointless for me to bother with it.

I’m left with nothing. My inbox is now a barren desert. Its only purpose is to mock me. “Nobody wants to email you! NOBODY!”

I’ve literally gone for weeks while travelling where I haven’t been able to check my email, then when I finally manage to do it there’s nothing there. Google has sorted and separated it so efficiently that I no longer need to exist. It’s only a matter of time before they start to reply automatically to my emails for me. Then I might as well kill myself because my life will be so automated that it will no longer matter that I’m there.

The only thing I live for now is to check my spam folder. Maybe my dream email was sent there by mistake? But no, it hasn’t been. Just emails for penis enlargement and sexy ladies.

I guess the only way to receive is to give. Send out emails and you’ll get replies. But there’s no fun in the expected. Knowing you’ll get a reply takes away half the fun. There’s no surprise in that.

Once in a blue moon somebody sends me an email after reading my blog. I get a feeling of warmth inside. For a few moments I’m important! I’m loved. My email is validated along with my life.

Yet when it comes to hit reply, I waver. Am I really going to have to spend 10 minutes of my valuable time writing an email? Who can be bothered with that? I’ve got more important things to do.

Like checking my Facebook.